Chapter 27: Wolves and Jackals (Part II)

Now, Count Etienne and his entourage each had to face a dozen mouths filled with sharp teeth, dozens of overlapping howls, and hundreds of flickering eyes. They were not lacking in courage, nor were they particularly afraid of death, but humans have always harbored an innate aversion to these apostles of the devil.

If the Count were to speak, he would say that if time could be turned back, he would rather walk back into King Amalric I's Holy Cross Castle and accept the challenges of those young knights—one-on-one or one-against-ten—for dying under the spear of a Christian would be far more noble than dying in the jaws of these beasts.

What was most hateful was that if anyone were wearing armor or chainmail, they could at least attempt to break out of here, mount a horse, and ride off to send word. Even if they couldn't find anyone, or if they found someone who was unwilling to come to their rescue, they could at least have their bodies collected and anointed with holy oil, so they wouldn't be harmed by the devil and then cast into hell for failing to receive the last rites!

But their ship had run aground. While their lives were not in immediate danger and they had managed to bring out horses, wine, and some food, their bodies were soaked with seawater. A few squires who were about to be knighted were wearing chainmail (to get used to the weight, they wore it constantly), but fearing the damp would cause rust, they had taken it off, wiped it with oil, and hung it on nearby tree branches.

The clerics and knights wearing leather armor and plate were in the same situation.

These beasts, known as the devil's servants, were so clever. They seemed to know that once a human donned armor, they would be helpless against them, so from the very beginning, they had dispatched some of their strongest members to obstruct them from reaching and putting on their gear.

And the horses—if they hadn't tied them together, the panicked animals would have scattered long ago. Now, it was hard to say if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

The wolf and jackal packs were very familiar with these large animals, similar to deer. They wove cautiously between the horses' hooves, biting at their tails and legs. Some wolves, skilled at leaping, would jump onto the horses' backs with the help of their companions, tearing the horses' necks until they were drenched in blood.

They dealt with horses just as they dealt with humans: they tried their best to make them fall. Once a horse fell, the main force of the pack would immediately shift their attention and change their target, because by then, the horse had no possibility of fighting back or escaping.

Some wolves and jackals were kicked by hooves or thrown off the horses because they were too slow to react, but these sacrifices were entirely worth it.

Count Etienne heard two consecutive wails. He glanced over and saw a squire being dragged away by a wolf; another sound resembled one of the clerics in their party. In that split second of distraction, the alpha wolf bit down on his longsword. The wolf's teeth grated against the steel, screeching, and it did not let go even as the blade sliced through its tongue and gums.

For the first time, the Count looked into a pair of living wolf eyes at such close range. The wolf's eyes were yellowish-brown, with huge pupils. Count Etienne hoped it was his own illusion, but he seemed to see an endless abyss within them, burning coals, hell—it was hell! he shouted in his heart.

"I beg you to help me, Lord Jesus, I beg you to save me!" he shouted at the top of his lungs, but everyone here had exhausted their strength. The wolves and jackals had cut them off, ensuring that only one person was surrounded and attacked in each area.

"If this is God's will!" Count Etienne shouted frantically, "Please shelter me, Saint Pelagius! Please protect your apostle, protect your follower! Saint Pelagius!"

He called out the name of the saint he had envisioned, who had discovered the tomb of Saint James in the ninth century, along with a shield once held by an angel. This shield was later revered by the Luo Majiaohui as the Shield of Saint Pelagius, said to be able to defend humanity against all demonic harm.

Following the Count's prayer, scorching flames suddenly rose from beneath his feet. It first pierced the wolf pack's noose like a spear, then instantly expanded, enveloping everyone. The knights and clerics were quick to react; they fought to beat back the wolves in front of and around them, rushing toward the Count. The flames illuminated their faces and hands, igniting some of the wolves and jackals, yet they did not harm the humans in the slightest.

But at the same time, Count Etienne felt a weakness erupt from the depths of his body. "I won't recover," he whispered. Now, even if a knight helped him onto a horse, he couldn't hold the reins or step into the stirrups. He knew he certainly wouldn't be leaving today, and only hoped his nephew, and perhaps others, could escape. "Anoint me with oil," he said. His vision was a sea of red, unable to see anything, and he could only grope for those around him.

He felt his hand gripped firmly by another person. "Praise Jesus Christ!" he said, but the person did not anoint him; instead, they took the sword from his hand. Another pair of hands took hold of him. Someone sighed, and then a few fingers wiped across his forehead. The Count took a deep breath. He was about to instruct the cleric to anoint the others as well, but he felt his knees, half-kneeling on the ground, trembling. He found it strange, as there was no fear in his heart, but he immediately thought of a possibility.

This was the vibration of hooves striking the earth—one of the sensations most familiar to a knight!

He raised his head, and although he could not see the scene before him, he could hear the people around him cheering. Someone had come to save them!

——————

Jofrua's previous behavior could not be approved of by Cesar. Although he had received the favor of this Templar, his conscience was always tormenting a heart that did not belong to this era. But these complex feelings dissipated into the howling gale immediately after Jofrua knelt for the fifth time, recited the Lord's Prayer, and requested guidance from his envisioned saint, Saint Ilatu.

"Thank Jesus Christ! Thank Saint Ilatu!" The older knight stood up, shouting with a spirited expression, "We found them! We found them!" He immediately vaulted onto his horse and charged forward like an arrow released from a bow. His speed was so fast, surpassing the birds, and behind him, not a single person lagged, not even Cesar, who had only practiced riding for a few months.

He couldn't possibly be riding the pony Kastor that Baldwin had given him on this outing. It would be a magnificent horse in the future, true, but in this weather, needing to gallop day and night, one required a strong adult Percheron or Marwari horse.

Cesar was riding a Percheron. This horse had been a gift from the Gerard family as a return for the bucket and mop after they heard he was leaving the castle—it had deep brown, shiny fur, with only its hooves and tail being white. It certainly couldn't compare to Kastor, but Cesar liked it the moment he saw it.

As for how this horse came to like Cesar, it was, of course, because Cesar had unhesitatingly taken out all the fruits, vegetables, and malt sugar from his own share.

The feeling of riding an adult horse was completely different from riding a pony, and the feeling of a horse galloping was vastly different from a slow walk. When people still needed riders to deliver messages, one would often see horses exhausted after long journeys, and the riders themselves at death's door—this was because when a horse galloped, a person couldn't just sit on it, unless they were willing to shatter every bone in their body.

Cesar's teacher was Baldwin, who taught him that when a horse galloped, you could not tell yourself, "I am riding a horse." You should tell yourself, "I am standing on a small boat." Your feet must be firmly planted in the stirrups, ensuring you are as stable on the horse's back as an anchor; your knees must be bent, rising and falling with the horse's rhythm like water waves; your hands must grip the reins tightly, just as a sailor pulls the ropes of a sail. Only then could you steer this spirited little boat through hurricanes and rainstorms, rather than being swallowed by them.

And in these past few days, Cesar had truly felt how precious this teaching was—though this might not have been Baldwin's original words, but rather him borrowing the words of a previous martial arts instructor (a person who might even have been Count Raymond of Tripoli or Amalric I himself).

At first, he had been somewhat clumsy, and his legs were often injured from impact and friction. If it weren't for the fact that this body of his was not like that of an ordinary boy... he meant, he had great strength, a fast recovery speed, and low pain sensitivity, he would have been abandoned by the Templars long ago because he couldn't move.

Jofrua hadn't liked him from the start.

It wasn't until he tried to ride according to Baldwin's instructions that he truly felt the excitement and joy of riding. The small rift between him and the horse vanished into thin air, and they moved in such harmony it was as if they were one. Although he and the horse were traveling on land, it was as if they were passing through rolling waves, and the wind was an invisible sea tide—he even caught up to Jofrua, following closely behind him, and he also saw that flicker of light that seemed ready to extinguish at any moment.

He heard Jofrua shouting the name of his envisioned saint. He charged toward the firelight like a heavy hammer striking the iron net of hell. His horse leaned forward, ears flattened, and with a powerful leap, it jumped right into the center of the wolf pack.

Cesar saw it too. He wasn't panicked; he had participated in a few hunts before. As long as one was on horseback, medium-sized beasts like wolves and jackals could not pose a threat to them. On the contrary, even without training, horses would subconsciously trample and kick.

He grabbed the reins, lifted his body, and made the horse raise its front hooves, stomping down heavily. This single blow struck the chest of a large wolf, which whimpered and died. Cesar only felt a slight jolt; the horse snorted, turning around in the clearing, shaking its body continuously.

The two sergeants and squires behind them also arrived. The precarious balance between the wolves, jackals, and humans was finally broken, but not as the alpha wolf had hoped. The scales did not tip toward the wolf pack, but toward the other side. It hid in the darkness, gauging the humans' strength and the pack's power, even though the favor Saint Pelagius had bestowed upon Count Etienne had already been exhausted...

The initial goal could no longer be achieved. It raised its head and let out a long howl, and the wolf pack's offensive immediately slackened. Experienced old wolves even abandoned their opponents, turning to snatch up the jackal carcasses on the ground and fleeing rapidly into the darkness. The other wolves followed suit, and the jackal pack also sensed something was wrong. The alpha jackal roared in anger, but there was nothing it could do.

The beasts abandoned the corpses on the ground and left without hesitation. Count Etienne and his party, having survived the ordeal, collapsed to the ground one after another, hands and feet trembling, heads dizzy. Only the Count, supported by a squire, walked toward the Templars.

"Salutations to the brave knights!" he said, panting. "I must thank you. If it weren't for you, and your squire (now he could see things a bit more clearly), we would have been finished!"

"Thank God, thank the Holy Mother, thank Her Holy Son, and also thank my envisioned saint, Saint Ilatu. If it weren't for their protection, we wouldn't have been able to find you, let alone come to your aid!" Jofrua scanned the battlefield, ensuring there wasn't a single cowardly mongrel here, and finally, his gaze rested on the guide.

"King Amalric I of Jerusalem heard that your ship had been wrecked, so he sent us to find you." He said this to Count Etienne. This statement, of course, had significant doubts. There were countless ships that had been wrecked, and even if other survivors had found villages or cities elsewhere and reported the matter, and messengers had immediately gone to report to Amalric I, it would have taken at least ten days or more to go back and forth. How could it be possible to find them so quickly?

But since the Templar said so—the guide also sensed that this might be his only chance to escape. He hid behind the cleric, slowly moving toward a dark spot that wouldn't attract anyone's attention. But just as he was about to slip away, he heard a "clink."

A gold coin fell, landing exactly on a broken short sword. The sound was loud and crisp, and everyone heard it.

Everyone subconsciously looked over. The guide stared at them in terror. He instinctively gripped the money pouch containing the gold coins; it had always been firmly tied to his belt, hidden under his leather armor. But because it had been continuously bitten and clawed by wolves and jackals, even the toughest calfskin couldn't hold up, and it had split open in several places—the previous coin was just the beginning. Now, as long as the guide moved, these shiny little fellows would fall out continuously.

Count Etienne's cleric was the first to react, picking up the few gold coins that had fallen at his feet before the guide could. He weighed them and looked at them. These were the Roman gold coins commonly used in Jerusalem, each weighing about 4 grams. As we mentioned before, one hundred and fifty Roman gold coins were enough for a knight to outfit himself completely—in any case, a guide shouldn't have such a wealthy sum of money...

He looked at the guide and slowly gripped the handle of his hammer. The guide retreated in terror, dropping more coins, but where could he escape to?

No one noticed that the guide's eyes were changing from terror to ferocity. No one expected that he would hunch his shoulders, bend his knees, and put on a cowardly appearance, all while gathering momentum, and then lunge at Count Etienne with one side of his body!

(End of chapter) ===== CHAPTER 28 =====